


Blood

by flourishandblotts



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Depressed Dan Howell, Depression, Dreams and Nightmares, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 21:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flourishandblotts/pseuds/flourishandblotts
Summary: Dan was drowning in Phil.Every night, the same. He would dream of other things, too – Phil wasn’t the only one occupying his twilight. But he didn’t like to think of those other things. Whenever his mind began to wander away from him, the night changed.





	Blood

Dan was drowning in Phil.

He gazed at him in wonder, drinking him in and absorbing every aspect of him. His piercing blue eyes that seemed to be infinitely illuminated by a power source of their own. His soft, rose-coloured lips that Dan knew could kiss with a sweet tenderness or a burning passion. His strong yet supple hands that glided over his face, stopping at his mouth – gentle hands that raised tiny goose bumps on his arms where they lay. His rich, fathomlessly black hair that fell over his eyes. And his voice. A voice like none other he had heard before. It was rich and warm, clear and crisp, quiet and understanding.

Dan smiled at Phil as he stroked his silky skin with one hand, weaving the fingers of the other through his hair delicately. The locks slipped through his fingers like pure gossamer threads. They didn’t embrace or lock lips; they just held each other tenderly and stared into each other’s eyes, losing themselves in a dazed oblivion known to only lovers. They tripped and stumbled over reality and facts of everyday life slipped from their minds like a stream sliding over pebbles on the bed. Fantasy became everything became fantasy. They would float over the world in a bubble, lying together in silence that meant everything and nothing. Words hovered between them, but what these words were, neither knew. They simply knew they existed.

Dan dreamed of other things too – Phil wasn’t the only one occupying his twilight. But he didn’t like to think of those other things. Every time that his mind began to wander away from Phil, the night changed. Things disappeared, things reappeared, and everything was thrown upside down and downside right and leftside up. The bubble would shatter, droplets of rainbow showering into the night. Dan would open his mouth, trying to speak one of the words that floated in the gap between Phil’s mouth and his.

That was when Phil would start to fade away.

The light in his eyes would die down. He’d begin to fall, sinking lower and lower into the fathomless abyss below. Dan would grasp at Phil's hands, trying to keep him there, but he slipped right through them. He fell agonisingly slowly, twisting and freefalling until there was no sight of him. Then the phantom images would begin. Just flashes: brief flashes that were there and gone before he had a chance to recognise them. But he did. He always did. There would be a blade, light glinting off the marred tip, held close to his wrist. A pair of brown eyes filled with hatred staring out of a mirror. A cold empty room. The sensation of his fist colliding with someone.

And there was blood. There was always so much blood, dripping from every image he saw and every image he didn’t see. It trickled in a pool at his feet, then began snaking up his leg in a deadly spiral. Somewhere near his knee, though, the blood would transform. It would fade to grey, and grow larger and thicker. It brought with it the sound of an almighty roaring and shrieking, and it also brought with it a mass of clouds. The clouds would advance from nowhere, gathering above Dan’s head in a pitch-black rotating cylinder that would spin faster and faster until it seemed to emit smoke. The smoke would leak down from the whirring mass, engulfing him. It smelled of betrayal and love and lust and hatred and blood.

Always blood.

Choking, he would thrash around, trying to escape the oncoming fog. But nothing would ever help him. The smoke would surround him and fill him until there was nothing but a violent silence ringing in his ears and a vortex of inky blackness that seemed to have swallowed his meagre existence whole. It suffocated him, choking him, trapping him full of dread that seemed to find its way into the core of his very soul, filling and spilling over and under his thoughts and feelings and every last ounce of rationality.

And then there would be nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> aloha again, i'm still reading/writing phan stuff instead of preparing to graduate uni ha
> 
> this is something i wrote waaaaaay back in the day, but kind of...repurposed i guess? it might be a little much, i'm not sure, i'm still used to fic writing. it's basically my interpretation of a depression-induced nightmare, which trust me from experience are the lEAST fun in the world
> 
> i hope you're all happy and are as in love with the new daniel howell as i am xo


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